


Duhka

by Sashas_Fierceness



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashas_Fierceness/pseuds/Sashas_Fierceness
Summary: This is a all human AU. Even Baby Yoda is a baby human...not named Yoda.Cara Dune is a police detective working in Nevarro County who is going through some ish.And on International Women's Day we get to watch her deal, heal, and be treated with R-E-S-P-E-C-T by a mighty, mighty good man.
Relationships: Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 94
Kudos: 110





	1. Samsara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Vibeke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/gifts).



> This is the brain soap I promised Lady_Vibeke. Sorry it is in two parts dude. Double the soap?

_“‘What happens when people open their hearts?’_

_‘They get better’”_

-Haruki Murakami, _Norwegian Wood_

[[[

“Looks like we’re the committed few, huh?”

Cara Dune did not hear the question addressed to her by the muscle-bound leviathan standing next to her in the weight room of her neighbourhood gym. She was not one of those people who socialized in the gym. Cara preferred to work smart and efficiently for maximum results. Plus, she wore large headphones during her workouts. All the better for blasting Lizzo, and to display the international symbol for, “don’t talk to me”.

In the grand tradition of creeps everywhere the behemoth could not, or did not care, to read the room. He tapped on Cara’s shoulder, determined to get his due.

Cara jumped away from the cable machine she’d been using to do rows and adopted a defensive position. The Oblivious Mammoth remained oblivious.

“I said, looks like we’re the committed few!” the poor man’s Vin Diesel yelled at Cara.

“What?” Cara asked while pulling her headphones down to rest around her neck.

“We’re the only ones here,” Vin Junior said while gesturing to the rest of the weight room. “So, we are the committed few”.

“Oh yeah I guess so,” Cara replied in a perfunctorily polite manner that she hoped signaled her desire to be left alone.

“You know what I say?” the Steroid Beast asked Cara as if she should care. “Actions speak louder than words. People talk about wanting to get in shape, but we’re the only ones here. That says something about you and me, about our values.”

Cara prayed to every deity she could think of for patience and rolled her third eye.

“Or, it could mean we are the only people with nothing better to do on a Friday night,” Cara replied to bring Captain Values down a notch. “The yoga class is full,” she said and gestured to a room partitioned off from the rest of the gym with glass walls.

“Pssshhw, yoga,” The Turgid Block made a dismissive gesture. “That’s not real exercise.”

Cara looked at the yoga instructor. He was a slim, but clearly fit man. Currently, the yoga instructor was demonstrating some kind of head stand to his class.

Cara cocked her head to the side. “Pretty sure that guy’s got excellent core strength,” she mused while watching the yoga instructor carefully move his legs into a pretzel shape while still upside down.

“Give me a break. The dude’s soft. Have you seen his kid?” The Bloated Mountain was now sneering at the yoga instructor as the teacher slid gracefully out of the modified head stand and into a sitting position.

Shitty Hulk was lucky he couldn’t see Cara’s face, because she knew the yoga instructor and his son. No one talked smack about the kid on her watch.

“What about his kid?” she asked.

The Knobby Monster turned back to her and said. “His kid’s a little boy, like two or three, and that New Age Beta,” he tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards the yoga instructor. “Let’s the kid wear dresses. I see ‘em here on Sunday mornings when he teaches the restorative yoga class.” The Bulging Twat pronounced restorative like it was a dirty word. “He let’s the fucking kid run wild -in a dress- and Greef and Mayfeld just put up with it!”

Greef Karga was the owner of the Cantina Gym. He’d been a prize fighter in his younger days and opened his originally bare bones gym to supplement his winnings. Greef was talking retirement these days, and his protégé inside the ring, and out, Bill Mayfeld was poised to take over the day-to-day running of the gym. Mayfeld had long read the sign of the times and expanded the gym’s offerings to include a cardio room, fitness classes, yoga, and Pilates. The change rooms, including a private gender-neutral change room, boasted infrared saunas.

Cara had heard more than enough. “Listen –

She realized she didn’t know The Lunk Head’s name and was about to call him something unsavory.

For the first time that evening, The Incredible Dick seemed to take a cue. He knew she was searching for something to call him. Problem was, he thought she wanted to know his name because she was interested in getting to know him better.

“Cam,” he said, with a shit eating grin. “My name is Cam.”

Cara sighed. Because of fucking course his name was Cam. Cara gave him a once over. Cam was one of those guys who was as wide as he was short and seemed to have lost his neck. At 5’8, Cara could look him in the eye, and she didn’t like what she saw. A generic Hitler youth haircut that appearance conscious but not stylish white men seemed to favour, highly groomed scruff, a shredded tank top, ugly tribal tattoos, and even uglier sneakers shaped like feet.

Why was it always the Cams of the world that hit on her? Admittedly, a few years ago she was drawn to the likes of Cam. She had assumed these walking neck tattoos were her romantic destiny. Not so much anymore.

“Well Cam, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to my workout,” Cara said and walked towards the squat rack.

Cam followed her and watched as she racked up the weights.

Cam made an impressed sound. “That’s a lotta weight. You want a spotter?” he asked.

“No thanks.” Cara bit out.

“Alright, Beautiful,” Cam said getting back into her personal space. “I admire an independent woman. But just so you know, I don’t bite.” He pulled aside his fashionably ripped tank top to reveal a massive ring in his left nipple. The kind of hardware that looks like it could be hooked up to some sort of torture device easily. “Unless you want me to…” Cam trailed off as he did the unthinkable. He chucked Cara under the chin like she was a five-year-old he was promising a sweet to if she was good.

Cara reached her limit. Every good cop has one.

“You’ve got three seconds to get the fuck out of my personal space,” Cara ground out and pulled herself up to her full height. “Before I arrest you for physically assaulting a police officer.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Cam stuttered backing away from her. “There’s no need for that. Jeez, I was just trying to chat up a pretty girl. Men can’t even breathe near chicks these days and they’re crying rape.”

Oh, so that’s how it was, hey? Cara smirked. She was going to enjoy laying some truth on this dickhead with no dick.

“Listen, Cam, and listen good. Nobody cries rape, and literally no one, not any woman, cares about your boner. Fuck off, anywhere but here.”

Cam turned away muttering under his breath. “Whatever, bitch. You’re ugly anyway.”

“Excuse me?!” Cara yelled ready to pole axe this neck beard.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” Mayfeld asked. He had wandered into the weight area and witnessed the tail end of the ruckus.

“She,” Cam pointed at Cara. “Just threatened to arrest me for no reason. Is that how you let cops act in your establishment? You let them harass patrons?”

Cara scoffed. “I threatened to arrest him because he touched me without my permission and flashed his nipple at me while sexually harassing me in the middle of my workout.”

Mayfeld turned to Cam. “What did I tell you the last time a woman complained about you?”

Cam looked incredulous. “You’re going to believe her?”

“Uh well, let’s see,” Mayfeld replied. “She is an officer of the law, a long-time patron, and a close, personal friend. You are just some dude who comes to my gym and upsets the female clientele. Scratch that, you were some dude who came to my gym. You’re banned buddy.”

“You can’t do that!” Cam yelled.

“Yeah I can. I own the place. And, I’m pretty sure, and Detective Dune can correct me if I’m wrong. But, I’m pretty sure trespass law says if I tell you to GTFO, as the owner, you must leave or you can be arrested for trespassing,” Mayfled looked at Cara. “Cara?”

Cara nodded back at him. “Yup.”

Cam pointed at Mayfeld. “You’ll regret this. You have no idea who I am!”

“Look Harvey Weinstein on roids, this is my last warning. Leave now, or she gets to take you downtown.”

“I’m going to complain to Greef!” Cam yelled while gathering his belongings.

Mayfeld made a jerking off motion at him. “You do that pal. Tell you what? We can stop by his office when I escort you out. You can tell him this is the third complaint we’ve gotten about Creepy Cam.”

“You cool?” Mayfeld asked Cara.

She nodded in the affirmative.

“Great, I figured as much.” Mayfeld walked towards the grumbling Cam. “Alright let’s go.”

Cara watched as Mayfeld followed Cam, who complained the whole way, out of the gym.

Cara took a deep breath and turned back to the squat rack. Her blood was simmering. She’d never felt more ready to take her rage out on the weights.

*ping*

A beeping emanated from her phone to her headphones. Cara looked down to see she had received a text. Her eyes flew to the yoga room, but it was empty. The class had let out shortly after Cam had begun his efforts to seduce her.

_Are you okay?_

Cara smiled at the phone’s interface and began tapping in a response.

_Nothing I couldn’t handle._

The reply came in seconds.

_Duh. Not what I asked thou…_

Cara smiled even wider and shook her head at the phone.

_I’m riled up to be honest. Gonna finish my workout. C u after?_

_Dinner will be in the fridge. About to bathe S. Hoping he goes down easy._

Cara felt some of the tension in her body melt away at the domestic images floating through her brain in response to the texts.

_Good luck with that,_ she replied _. C u later._

_Xo_

Cara tucked her phone back into the special pocket in her leggings and positioned herself at the squat rack. Cam couldn’t have known it, but even if he’d approached her like a decent human being he would have been out of luck. Her heart was spoken for, by the most unlikely of suitors.

[[[

Cara hadn’t expected to waltz into 2020 being one half of, or maybe it was better to say one third of, the healthiest relationship she’d ever been in. A year ago, she had been angry, burned out, and working the hardest case of her career. The bodies of three young women, all in their early twenties, had been found at different rural dump sites on the outskirts of Nevarro County. Now there was a fourth dead body, but with one difference. The girl’s body had been stuffed in a suitcase before being dumped in a remote area.

Cara and her partner, a junior detective named Ben Solo were sure the suspect sitting in the interrogation room with his lawyer was responsible for all four murders, but without more information from the perp they couldn’t prove it.

Cara sat at a small table directly across from Toro Calican and his lawyer, Fennec Shand. A tape recorder whirred in the background as she attempted to question Calican. Across the room, Cara could see her reflection in two way mirror she knew Solo was standing behind observing the process.

“So, Toro,” Cara began, and slid a picture of a young blond woman across the table at him. “Tell me about Xi’an.”

Calican peered at the tabletop. “I told you already,” he mumbled. “It was an accident.”

Cara tried to make her voice sound sympathetic. “I know Toro, but the more you tell us the better it will be for you. If this was all an accident tell me about it. You have to see it doesn’t look good when you claim to have accidentally killed someone, but you stuffed their body in a suitcase and dumped it on the edge of town.”

“I know,” Toro said and ran both his hands through his hair.

Shand refilled her client’s water glass. “Just start from the top Toro and tell Detective Dune what you told me,” she said soothingly.

“I matched with Xi’an on this dating app for people who like rough sex,” Toro began.

“Define ‘rough sex’,” Cara demanded interrupting Calican.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Shand snapped.

Cara glared at the woman and slapped open the coroner’s report. “It’s relevant because according to Dr. Pershing’s findings Xi’an’s cause of death was strangulation. Strangulation that occurred shortly after she had forced, or unforced, sexual intercourse of an internally traumatic nature.”

“I only did what she asked for!” Toro said his voice tight with nerves.

Cara looked back at him. “Rough sex, Calican. What does that mean?”

“We, we chatted…on the app before we went on a date,” Toro explained shakily. “She said she liked it when guys were rough. Said she liked being tied up and choked, stuff like that.”

“So, you choked her during sex?” Cara said hoping her leading question would trap Calican in a confession.

“No! I told you I don’t remember what happened!” Calican replied. “She seemed so cool and out there you know? I drank a lot on the date. She kept throwing back shots and I didn’t want to seem like a pussy. And, I knew where the date was going you know? So, I needed some liquid courage.”

“Where was the date going?” Cara asked.

“Well, she was pretty clear she wanted to have sex. And, I knew what kind of sex. I didn’t want to chicken out,” Calican said.

“You see Detective Dune?” Shand picked up where Calican left off. “My client isn’t even that interested, or versed, in “rough sex” or “BDSM” or whatever you want to call it. He was just exploring a dating app and met someone far more experienced than himself and an accident ensued.”

“Maybe,” Cara replied. “But I’d rather hear it in your client’s own words. Because it is hard to believe your client had no interest in rough sex but joined a dating app for people purporting to be members of the BDSM community. There’s also the fact Xi’an wound up strangled, but your client claims to either not remember choking her during sex, choking her at all, or what in general happened.”

Toro opened his mouth to speak but Shand placed her hand on his. “Not so fast Toro,” she looked at Cara. “You and I both know the forensics on strangulation. People can lose consciousness in less than fifteen seconds; even fatal cases can occur without any observable physical indications the person has been strangled. Worst case scenario is he got highly intoxicated, did what she told him to do during sex, and accidentally killed her.”

“Hey!” Toro cried thinking his attorney was painting him as the guilty party.

“Or,” Cara interrupted. “We have an autopsy that states the victim was strangled to death-

“You have an autopsy that states the most likely cause of death is asphyxiation due to strangulation. It doesn’t say strangulation is the definite cause of death. Furthermore, the body itself bears no strangulation marks.”

“The damage Dr. Pershing found to Xi’an’s windpipe suggests otherwise,” Cara countered.

“Suggests, does not prove,” Shand volleyed back. “For all you know, Xi’an choked on her own vomit after getting highly intoxicated and engaging in consensual breath play.”

Cara gripped the pen in her hand so tightly she worried it would burst. “Is that what happened Toro? Did you choke Xi’an with her consent and then things went sideways? You accidentally killed her? Because I gotta tell you. Accidentally murdering someone is still murder.”

“But, it’s not Murder One Detective,” Shand replied for her client. “It is manslaughter at best.”

Cara kept her attention on Calican. “Then why stuff her in the suitcase after, Toro? If you weren’t guilty of anything why hide the body? How come you didn’t call 911 as soon as you sobered up and realized she was dead?”

Shand looked ready to answer but Calican beat her to it. “Because I woke up next to a dead chick! I panicked! As far as I knew she was just sleeping it off like me. I didn’t think anyone would believe me that it was an accident.”

“That’s enough Toro. You don’t have to answer anymore questions,” Shand said.

“Really?” Cara asked. “That’s the advice you want to give him? When we have your client on security footage buying the suitcase Xi’an was found in. We have his own building’s security footage showing him bringing the suitcase into the building empty and then bulging on the way out. We have statements from Xi’an’s two best friends who she told she was meeting up with Mr. Calican on the night in question. Hell, both girls gave us screen shots from texts Xi’an sent them containing screenshots of her text conversations with your client.”

“Circumstantial evidence Detective,” Shand replied. “What you don’t have is a direct cause of death or any physical, or eyewitness, evidence that proves my client murdered Xi’an. Frankly, I suspect you have only kept my client here this long because you need a confession. Otherwise you and I both know this has reasonable doubt written all over it.”

“I’m pretty sure any judge and jury would be able to identify your client as the person on tape transporting Xi’an’s body,” Cara sneered.

Shand shrugged. “So, let’s talk a plea deal on interfering with a dead body.”

Calican and Cara both shouted, “What?!” at the same time.

Shand continued. “Turn off the recording device Detective. I need to visit the ladies,” she turned to the mirror. “And don’t think I don’t know that fuckable redwood tree of a partner of yours isn’t right on the other side of that glass watching us and listening to every word. You so much as look at my client the wrong way while I’m in the bathroom and I’ll ensure every scrap of evidence you have gathered is deemed poisoned fruit and inadmissible in court.”

Cara slapped the buttons on the tape recorder. “Don’t worry counsel. I’m not going to waste this precious break sitting in here with a sicko.”

Shand made an exasperated face before telling Calican to keep his mouth shut and heading for the bathroom.

Cara stood to make a break for the coffee machine before she realized she had spread evidence from her file folder all over the table. She couldn’t leave her documents unattended with the suspect. Cara started gathering up her papers briskly.

Calican watched her and leaned slowly forward. “Detective Dune?” he asked softly.

“Yeah?” Cara answered absentmindedly.

She didn’t have much of an attention span left to give Calican. The case was wearing on her. She didn’t sleep anymore. Her default setting was barely controlled rage these days, and now she was trapped in a room with the shit stain she was sure was responsible for her problems and four murders.

“Fennec said anything I say without her in the room doesn’t count. Is that true?”

Cara paused. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Toro’s face and taken on a strange glint. He did not seem like a scared boy who had gotten into a situation over his head. His eyes were both ablaze with something sinister and eerily empty.

“My lawyer isn’t here. I told you I wouldn’t talk without her,” Calican whispered. “Whatever I say to you now, it’s your word against mine, right?”

“People tend to believe cops on the stand, Calican. I’d follow your lawyer’s advice and keep your mouth shut,” Cara replied stuffing papers into her case file.

“But you wouldn’t be allowed to repeat what I say now on the stand would you? It would be, what was it Fennec called it? Bad fruit?”

Cara folded her arms. “I-

She didn’t get a chance to finish before Calican spoke again. “Because I killed Xi’an, and I killed the other three Fennec doesn’t know about. But you do, don’t you Detective Dune. That’s what this is really about.”

Cara froze. She peered into the two-way mirror and willed Ben to turn back on the sound system. For all she knew he’d stepped out of the room when she shut of the recorder. He was probably standing by the coffee machine, waiting for her so they could talk strategy.

“I’ll deny it if you tell anyone what I just said,” Calican continued. “I just wanted you to know you were right. It was me. I’ve been watching you Detective. You and your hillbilly looking partner. What’s with that guy’s face? The mustache alone makes him look more like a serial killer than me. Anyway, I’m sorry you won’t be able to make this stick to me Cara. I can call you Cara, right? We’ve been through a lot together you and me. I almost want to confess to give you this one. I mean, you’ve got so little Cara. No life outside this job, no one at home, no friends. You’re like spinster She-Hulk-

Calican’s diatribe was ended by Cara’s hand around his throat. He’d been so caught up in reliving his kills he hadn’t noticed when she lunged across the table at him. Cara pulled him backwards out of his chair and pushed him onto the floor of the interrogation room. She placed her knee on his chest and her second hand on his throat and squeezed.

“Is that what you like Toro?” Cara spit at him. “Do you like it when someone is ‘rough’ with you?”

Calican couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed at Cara’s hands, but she was too strong for him to throw her off.

“This is what it felt like for those four girls you killed,” Cara whispered to him. “Bet it doesn’t feel so great to be on the receiving end does it? Men don’t receive do they, Toro? Just us women. You’re the subject and we’re just objects, right?”

Toro’s eyes were bulging and full of fear. He flayed helplessly about on the floor.

Cara couldn’t see his distress, nor could she hear the shouts of Ben Solo and Fennec Shand as they rushed into the room. All she could hear was sound of blood, or waves, crashing around in her ears. She was acting on pure emotion and instinct.

Awareness eluded her even as Ben dragged her off Calican and carried her out of the interrogation room. She kicked at Ben’s hold on her while Shand yelled at both detectives that she would see to it they were both removed from this case and the file never made it to court.

[[[

Ben wrestled Cara into an empty interrogation room and sat her in a chair. He then walked to the door and shut it. Cara watched, her eyes welling up with tears as he leaned his forehead against the door.

Cara bit her lip until she tasted blood. She would not cry. Carasynthia Dune was not the kind of woman who cried at work. If a cop cries at work that’s it. The brass put you out to pasture.

Ben let out a loud exhale and looked skyward. Then he slammed his right hand against the door.

Cara just caught herself before she flinched.

“What the fuck Dune?!” Ben yelled more at the ceiling than at her. Finally, he cast his gaze down on her. “You nearly fucking killed our prime suspect in a serial murder case!”

Cara kept blinking back tears and kept her gaze focused on her cuticles. Ben did his best to meet her eyes. Cara wouldn’t look at him, but he couldn’t miss the way one tear escaped her lashes.

Ben’s anger evaporated. He slid to his knees in front of his superior officer, his partner. The woman who had taught him everything he knew about policing and didn’t treat him like the weird kid in class just because his mother was the Chief of Police and his father was District Attorney for Nevarro County.

“Cara?” Ben asked hesitantly. “What happened?”

He wasn’t sure if he should try and touch her or not. Even on his knees he loomed over her as she sat in the chair, he’d tossed her in. Ben knew his size intimidated most people. Cara wasn’t most people, but a lifetime of being scolded to mind the kids smaller than him and seeing unwarranted fear in strangers’ eyes had made him cautious.

Ben settled for placing his hands on the chair’s arm rest. He ducked his head to try and meet Cara’s eyes.

“Can you…can you tell me what happened?” Ben asked.

Cara placed her hands over Ben’s. “He told me…he told me he did it. He said he’d been watching us. He made it sound like he was going to walk…”

Ben cursed. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Mom will handle it.”

Cara tried to laugh at the fact he’d just referred to Leia Organa-Solo, Chief of Police, as “Mom” during work hours. Usually Solo would rather swallow his own gun than acknowledge his family ties at work. All that came out was a loud sob that horrified her and Ben equally.

Ben threw caution to the wind and pulled Cara into a tight hug. Hadn’t that weird psychologist lady with the crazy hair who came to give the precinct a seminar on mindfulness at work told them to support one another in their stressful jobs?

“I don’t think it will be okay,” Cara murmured into his hair. “I, I couldn’t stop myself Ben. I just, I heard waves, roaring, or something in my ears, and I just, I couldn’t stop.”

Ben squeezed her tighter. He could understand. This was his first homicide file.

He’d been a beat cop until recently and Cara agreed to mentor him if he applied to the Homicide Division. He’d seen a lot of fucked up things on the street, but it was all unplanned chaos. He’d been little more than a glorified social worker trying to make sure living rough and society’s neglect, not to mention their own violent tendencies, didn’t kill the most vulnerable.

He’d seen dead bodies before he and Cara rolled up to the first dump site on this case, but he’d never seen this kind of killing. The planning, the malice, even the enjoyment and sexual thrill the FBI profiler they’d contracted onto the team had gleefully apprised him of was foreign to Ben. He’d momentarily wondered what kind of damage a person had to have to be a profiler, or a white girl named Becky with a true crime podcast.

Ben had taken one step onto the crime scene and wanted to vomit. Ben had managed to hold it together until he was forced to listen to Dr. Pershing rap poetic about the curry his wife had made the night before while cataloging the body’s injuries. Cara and Pershing had watched him, knowing smiles on their faces, while he ran to the edge of yellow tape to throw up his breakfast somewhere it wouldn’t contaminate the scene.

Ben let go of Cara and settled her back into the chair.

“Whatever happens this isn’t the end,” he said looking her in the eyes. He cupped her face with his enormous hands. “for you or for this case. Yeah, maybe they’re gonna have to bench you for a while. But I’m not gonna let Calican get away with this.”

Cara nodded just as a loud hammering started on the locked door of the interrogation room. Ben dropped his hands from Cara’s face and spun around on his knees to face the door. He’d know that thundering knock anywhere. He’d heard it enough times on his bedroom door as a teenager.

“Shit!” he hissed. “It’s my mom.”

Cara put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “It’s alright Solo. Let her in. I’m gonna have to face the music no matter what. We can’t stay in here forever.”

Ben sighed. “She used to yell the same thing at me when I was a kid.”

Ben stood and crossed the short space to the door in one stride. He opened the door and peered down at his mother. Leia Organa-Solo raised one eyebrow at her son before ordering him from the room. Ben’s shoulders dropped and he skulked from the room like a guilty child.

Leia shut the door behind her and walked towards Cara. The Chief pulled a chair up in front of Cara and unbuttoned her cream coloured blazer so she could sit. Leia was the kind of woman who could wear an all cream pant suit and not spill anything on it. Cara envied her composure in all situations.

“So,” Leia said. “You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?”

Cara did want to explain herself to Leia, but she couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t think either. The waves in her head were back, roaring louder than ever before, and threatening to pull her out into the undertow. Cara opened her mouth, but all that happened was the wave hit and she broke into loud sobs.

[[[

Cara’s worst fears came true. Crying at work had got her benched, well, put on stress leave, but it amounted to the same thing. Shand had complained to Internal Affairs about the use of force on her client, and honestly Cara couldn’t blame her. After a quick investigation, Cara had agreed to recuse herself from Calican’s file and attend mandatory counselling before she could return to work. In return, there would be no record on her file regarding the incident with Calican.

[[[

In Cara’s world, mandatory orders were orders she had to follow, but only begrudgingly. She’d do her requisite number of counselling sessions, and then she’d go back to work. Nothing in that order meant she had to actually learn something from her counselor, or pry open her chest and give this stranger her deepest secrets.

No, Cara just had to say the right things. Other officers who had been through the process had even given her talking points. Ben had looked a little sad and even worried when she’d told him about the canned language she planned to use in sessions. He even mumbled that it couldn’t hurt to, “trust the process”. Cara had felt a small twinge of shame in the face of Ben’s genuine concern. Ben was like a younger brother to her, and she cared about his good opinion of her, but Cara knew herself best, and the best thing for her was to get back to work.

Without the diversion of work the roaring waves in her head kept her up at night and made her bite her nails all day.

[[[

Back at the squat rack, Cara peered into the spotting mirror behind the apparatus and appraised her form. If she had known last year when she walked into her therapist’s office just what a tough nut Dr. Peli Motto, PhD, MD, and psychotherapist was Cara would have never stepped foot in the woman’s office. Cara had never been so grateful for her own ignorance.

[[[

Cara sat in Dr. Motto’s office waiting for the therapist to appear so she could get her first session over and done with. Suddenly, a small flurry of activity with the worst perm Cara had seen since 1989 flew into the room and sat in the chair across from Cara. Dr. Peli Motto was about 4’11 tops, and she had the no nonsense look of a woman who got up every morning to do her job to the best of her ability and didn’t care what the world thought of her.

Cara swallowed hard. Something told her Dr. Motto was not going to stand for canned responses to serious questions. Cara was sure, an hour later, as she sat sobbing uncontrollably in response to Dr. Motto’s methods that prepared statements were not going to cut it in this office.

“Cara?” Dr. Motto asked softly. “Can you tell me what’s happening right now? What are you feeling?”

“It’s the waves,” Cara sobbed. “I can’t, I can’t fight them.”

Dr. Motto made a note on her pad. “Tell me about the waves,” she said.

“I don’t know when they started,” Cara admitted through her tears. “But they got worse during the case. The Calican case…”

“It doesn’t matter how they started Cara,” Dr. Motto said. “Tell me about the waves. Tell me what they make you feel.”

Cara collected her thoughts for a moment. “It’s like…”

“The waves are like,” Dr. Motto corrected.

Cara snorted and reached for a tissue to blow her nose. “The waves are like a tsunami, like a huge tsunami that is going break over me and destroy everything. So, I have to hold it back. Keep it from breaking.”

“Hmmmm,” Dr. Motto made a noise of understanding. “And why does the wave have to be held back Cara? You called it a tsunami. That’s powerful imagery. Tsunami’s are natural disasters alright, but what would happen if your wave was allowed to break?”

Cara heard the rushing in her ears again, could feel the panic clawing its way up her throat.

“This happens!”

“What happens, Cara, tell me what happens.”

“I feel it!”

“Feel what?”

“Everything! And it’s too much. That’s what happened when I assaulted Calican. I let the wave break and I lost it!”

Dr. Motto leaned forward. “Okay, okay, I’m here. I’m here with you Cara. Let’s just close our eyes and do some breathing exercises okay?”

Dr. Motto led Cara through some grounding exercises she had insisted they practice at the start of the session. Cara complied and she felt herself relax.

“Okay,” Dr. Motto said when they had both opened their eyes again. “What I’m hearing Cara is that you have to hold back the wave or else you will feel everything.”

Cara nodded.

“That sounds pretty exhausting,” Dr. Motto said quietly. “It must be hard to always have to keep that in check. Especially in your line of work.”

“It is,” Cara admitted feeling more tears coming on. “Fuck!” she cursed at not being able to control her emotions.

“Cara,” Dr. Motto said in a way that commanded Cara’s attention. “Could you let yourself cry right now? In here? That’s the point of our work together. It’s safe here. You can give yourself permission to feel.”

“No,” Cara shook her head. The roaring was even louder. “I can’t! I don’t want to!”

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts! And it’s overwhelming!”

Dr. Motto’s face was a mask of compassion. “I know it does. But Cara, if you numb yourself to the pain, and the fear, and the anxiety…you also can’t feel joy, relief, or happiness.”

The roaring finally broke. Cara cried hysterically for the last fifteen minutes of the session. When Cara finally stopped sobbing, Dr. Motto asked Cara to check in with her body and ensure she was okay.

“You don’t have to leave until you’re sure you’re safe to go outside into the world,” Dr. Motto said while standing up to walk to her desk.

Cara watched as the small woman rummaged through her desk and pulled out a glass vial.

“This is probably quackery,” the doctor said as she walked back to Cara. “But I find it helps patients calm down when I put it in their water.”

Dr. Motto held the bottle of something called, “Rescue Remedy” in front of Cara and waited for her assent. Cara nodded in the affirmative and held out her glass of water to the doctor. Dr. Motto let several drops of liquid fall into Cara’s glass before standing up to return the bottle to its drawer.

Cara drank the water slowly, then she used some tissues to clean herself up.

After, when Dr. Motto walked her to the door the doctor told her, “You did great work today. Excellent session.”

Three sessions later, Dr. Motto again walked Cara to the door at the end of their hour.

“Look, I know you’re a very pragmatic Cara, and maybe you’ll think what I’m about to suggest is as much quackery as the Rescue Remedy, but I have a colleague who is teaching yoga classes while on paternity leave from medicine. And, I really think his restorative class might be helpful for you,” Dr. Motto said while staring at Cara like she expected the other woman to slap her for saying the word yoga.

Cara’s face must have given her away because Dr. Motto rushed to reassure her.

“He’s a pediatric neuro-surgeon. The brain is Din’s business. Well, child brains. But he couldn’t specialize in pediatric neurology until he’d completed regular neurology.”

Dr. Motto wrung her hands together. “He’s not all woo woo like some yoga teachers. Well okay, he’s a little woo woo, but in a very serious scientist way. Can I at least give you a pamphlet?”

Cara laughed at the doctor’s comically bad description of her friend.

“You know Dr. Motto, telling someone your friend is a little woo woo and that he has pamphlets is probably not the description to go with when confronting skeptics.”

Dr. Motto handed Cara the pamphlet.

“Well then,” the shorter woman said. “Don’t take my word for it go to one of the classes and see for yourself.”

[[[

Cara wiped down the squat rack and cast her gaze to the yoga room. She remembered approaching the room with extreme trepidation a year ago. She’d decided to give Dr. Motto’s suggestion a try, but only a college try. Cara would go early, stake the place out, wait and see who attended, and get a glimpse of this teacher friend of Dr. Motto’s. If at any point the class got spiritual or white girl yoga wasted Cara was going to make a run for the exit.

Cara had chosen a weekday class assuming it would be less populated than an evening or weekend class. She also picked the only class with a time slot between early morning and lunch. Only retirees and stay at home moms could go to classes scheduled outside of early mornings, lunch breaks, and evenings.

The pamphlet stated students were not required to bring their own yoga mat as one would be provided. Participants were encouraged to bring themselves, water, and wear comfortable clothes. Thus, Cara found herself in leggings, a sports bra, and a crop top standing outside the glass walls of an area the girl at the gym’s front desk had called, “the yoga room”. She had arrived thirty minutes early planning to scout out a strategically close to the door spot to claim as her own. In case she had to flee quickly during the class.

Much to Cara’s surprise, the yoga room was not empty. A lanky man with a tan and a shock of dark hair was sitting on the floor playing with a baby of the same colouring.

Cara knocked on the glass wall to get the man’s attention. “Um, hi, I’m not sure if I’m in the right place. Is there usually a yoga class in here in thirty minutes?”

The man’s face lit up with the brightest smile Cara had every seen. She noted his handsome face, framed with a mustache and patchy beard. He scooped up the baby-Cara didn’t know its age, babies confused her, it seemed oneish-and walked towards her.

“There certainly is a yoga class in this room in thirty minutes,” The man extended a hand to her. “I’m Din. Din Djarin. I teach the class.”


	2. Abhaya Mudra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara attends her first yoga class. Things go as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this story kind of got away from me, and turned out to want to say more than two chapters. It also wanted a bit more contemplation than an excuse for smut story requires. 
> 
> Cara is going through some things, and so is the world right now. Let's escape our own issues by focusing on hers!
> 
> Also, for the purposes of this story Nevarro County is in this world's Washington State and contains Seattle. Why? Because, Name1 and I used to live in the Pacific North West and we often talk about, why so serial killery PNW? And, this story has a serial killer. And yoga. Which pretty much sums up the PNW. Serial killers, taco trucks, and yoga.
> 
> I'm not sure how long this story will be. Probably another 2 chapters at least.

_“Whatever is not yours; let go of it. Your letting go of it will be for your long term happiness and benefit.”_

-Buddha, Na Tumhaka Sutta

***

“I’m Cara,” Cara said while shaking the offered hand of the man in front of her. “I’m new to the class. I hope I don’t slow everyone down.”

Din released her hand and adjusted his hold on the squirming baby.

“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “This class is a bit different from the usual gym-based yoga classes. We’re not focused on fitness, or even being particularly active. The restorative class is for anyone, but especially people who are dealing with an anxious mind. Some people just come for the _nidra_ and don’t even perform the poses. Sometimes people just lie on their mat and breathe. Other people cry or vocalize.”

Cara tried not to make a face at the mention of people crying or vocalizing. She didn’t want to offend Din within moments of meeting him. But, the thought of being trapped in a room with people keening their pain for the world to witness terrified her and she fought every urge in her body to flee. How was she supposed to get through the next hour? She couldn’t just turn tail now. Din had met her; he knew her face and name. Cara worked out at this gym regularly. If she ran now how could she face running into him in the halls in the future?

Suddenly, Cara was struck with a moment of genius.

“You should probably know I’m a cop,” Cara blurted out. “So, I don’t want to be a disruption, but I have to keep my phone on vibrate and I may have to leave class at a moment’s notice depending on what work requires. First responder stuff and all that…” she trailed off hoping she didn’t sound desperate to be anywhere but in his presence.

Din tilted his head and looked at her. Cara could swear that for a few seconds his face was the very picture of recognition. Like he had seen her before, or seen straight into her, and recognized her soul.

“That’s okay,” he replied gently. “I don’t hold my students hostage. Maybe just give me a signal or something if you have to leave.”

“What? Like a head nod?” Cara asked.

“Try something more obvious than a head nod. But, something less disruptive than this,” Din said while sticking out his tongue and waving with his free hand.

Now Cara did stare at him with a look that said, is this guy for real? Luckily, Din’s son began laughing hysterically at his father’s antics and Din was distracted enough by the peals of baby giggles to miss the look that crossed Cara’s face.

“Speaking of distractions,” Din said jiggling the baby in his arms. “I’d better drop this guy off at the creche or we will get nowhere in class.”

Din indicated to the yoga room. “Feel free to get yourself situated before everyone else arrives. None of the spots are spoken for. It’s strictly first come, first serve.”

“Sure, thanks!” Cara said with way more enthusiasm than she felt.

Din smiled brightly again and waved his son’s chubby fist at her. “Say bye-bye to Cara, Santiago. Just like we practiced. Bye-bye.”

The baby stared at her solemnly and did not unclench the tiny fist his father was moving for him. “Buh-buuuuh!” he cried.

“Good job!” Din said to the baby as they walked away.

Cara watched them go for several beats before turning back towards the yoga room. None of the other students had arrived yet so there was still time to stake out a space for her mat.

Once inside the yoga room, Cara fought her natural inclination to go to the back of the room and take over an entire corner so no one would try and bond with her while transcending or whatever the regulars in this class did. She didn’t want to be right up front though just in case she made faces or vocalized her own scoffing at the people vocalizing. Plus, she didn’t need Din watching her like a hawk while she fumbled through the poses. Cara settled on a space closer to the front than the back, and near the door should she need to make a getaway.

***

Back in the present, Cara stacked plyo boxes on top of one another and prepared to do box jumps. She mused to herself how different her life might be right now if she had followed her fear and fled that first yoga class. Cara had very nearly tucked her tail between her legs and slunk out of the room. Lucky for Cara and Din, her Momma didn’t raise a “do-nothing bitch”.

***

Do something bitch or not, Cara did not fare well in her first yoga class. One student, a woman who looked to be in her sixties did sit in the back and weep openly. Cara was not best pleased with the development, but she could tolerate it. Crying Lady looked like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother and Cara was raised to respect her elders.

What Cara could not tolerate was The Moaner. A young white woman, in Thai elephant print, drop crotch pants took Din’s direction to use this time to release emotions very seriously. If Cara thought the girl’s shaved head was a weird flex it was nothing compared to the sounds she randomly made throughout the class. Cara could not tell if the young woman was moaning in pain or ecstasy. It was also exceedingly unclear to Cara how the entire class, save herself, seemed able to tune out The Moaner.

As she struggled to emulate the postures Din was leading the class through, Cara wondered how on Earth this class was supposed to relax her. Every time The Moaner keened Cara’s blood pressure went through the roof. Never mind the sobbing coming from the back of the classroom.

Cara seriously considered faking a police emergency several times during the class. In the end, she had to turn enduring the hour into a competition with the hippies in order to survive. Let them moan and cry. This was Cara’s first yoga class ever and she would not only perform the poses with more agility and core strength than these emotional weaklings; she would perform with precision without crying or moaning.

To win the game, she was playing only with herself, Cara had to find something to focus on besides the Weepy Godmother and The Moaner.

Luckily for Cara, Din chose that moment to speak.

“The more you move into this pose, the more the body may resist,” he said in a deep clear voice. “And that’s okay. Maybe the mind resists to. Whenever you lose focus just come back to the sound of my voice.”

Right. Cara could do that. She could focus on a good-looking man with a sexy voice. _Instruct me, Daddy_.

By tuning out everything but Din’s voice Cara managed to hold it together for the duration of the class. Until the last fifteen minutes of the class, that is.

Din had made all the students lie on their mats facing up. Then he lowered the lights in classroom. Cara started to get a little nervous, but everyone else seemed to understand and expect what was happening so she rolled with it. Next, Din inquired as to which students would like a blanket for warmth or a rolled-up towel for under their neck. Cara opted for neither and felt her weirded out meter tick upwards.

“In these last few minutes of class,” Din began while he moved around the room delivering towels and blankets. “I want us to, as always, end our practice in a reflective and restorative way. In the next fifteen minutes, you don’t have to do anything except close your eyes and listen to my voice.”

Cara closed her eyes. Mercifully, the Weeping Godmother and The Moaner found no reason to cry or moan during this part of the class. Cara thought she might be able to lean into this lying on the floor doing nothing kind of yoga.

Then Din turned on the audio system and the room filled with the kind of waves crashing on the beach, ambient music usually played at spas and Cara fought the urge to sigh aloud. When she had first moved to Washington state, Cara had been warned by all her family and friends in New York City that she would be surrounded by drum circles, hippies, and new age “woo woo” by living in such close proximity to Seattle.

It turned out that Seattle, and its surrounding area was both exactly, and nothing, like her East Coast friends had feared. Every city is more nuanced than an outsider’s reductive perspective, but Christ, Cara was forced to listen to more New Age Instrumental in her everyday life than she thought necessary just by virtue of existing in Washington State.

Cara once again tried to focus solely on Din’s voice. The problem was, the more she followed his instructions the more relaxed she got. The less vigilant Cara became the louder the sound of the waves crashing on the stereo system got. Or maybe it was the waves rushing in her head? She could feel the unstoppable wave cresting in her mind again, and it terrified her. She, Cara Dune, would not cry in front of this room full of hippies. No matter how low the lighting was.

Cara did her best to breathe deeply and follow Din’s directions to,

“Let go whatever is not yours,

Let go the mind,

Let go the forehead,

The eyes,

The mouth,

The throat…”

Cara heard Din’s voice coming closer. As he moved towards her, Cara heard him speaking to other students between intonations to, “let go”. For one he placed a towel under their neck, another he provided with a blanket. Cara kept her eyes squeezed shut to hold back her tears.

“Cara?” Din asked, his warm breath ghosting across her cheek. “If its okay with you I’m just going to prop up your neck with a towel.”

“Mmhmm,” Cara replied and hoped he understood she meant yes. If she opened her mouth she’d cry and that wasn’t happening.

Cara felt Din gently place one hand under her neck. She raised her head in response and allowed him to slot the rolled-up pillow in under her neck.

“And maybe a towel for over the eyes?” Din murmured in her ear. “I know the lights in the ceiling can be annoying when your lying on your back like this.”

The lights were not bothering Cara at all, and she suspected Din knew it. But, she was still desperately grateful for the cover he was offering her. She nodded yes, and he made a pseudo eye mask out of another small towel.

The eye cover allowed Cara to relax enough to finish the class, but she sprinted out of the room the moment Din turned the lights back on.

Cara made it to her car with only seconds to spare before the flood gates opened. She opted to sit out the cry fest in the gym parking lot in order to avoid causing an accident.

A half an hour later, Cara felt reasonably collected enough to drive when someone tapped on her driver’s side window.

“Jesus Christ!” Cara yelled before turning to look out the window.

Din Djarin was peering into her car with his baby strapped to his chest. Din waved at her. The baby just gave her another solemn stare while sucking on its fist. Cara put down her window.

“Not our Lord and Saviour. Just me,” Din said.

Cara stared at him wide eyed. She had managed to blow her nose and clean herself up after her melt down, but surely, she still looked like someone who had just cried their eyes out in a parking lot.

“Um hey,” she said trying to sound casual and carefree. “Great class!”

Cara wondered when she became the kind of person who gave strangers the double thumbs up while smiling like a maniac.

Din looked dubious.

“Was it?” he asked. “I’m only asking because you ran out pretty quick.”

Cara cast about for an excuse and landed on her cellphone. She waved it between herself and Din.

“Sorry about that. Police business. Remember?”

“Oh, seems pretty serious.”

Cara smiled again. “Yep. It was. But, you know, all in a day’s work.”

“So serious it made you sit in your car and cry?” Din asked.

Cara stared at him gobsmacked.

Din pointed to the car behind hers. “That’s my car. Santi shit his pants just as I got him in his car seat. I had to change him on the hood. I couldn’t help noticing you were…uh…well crying.”

Cara wasn’t supposed to tell the public about confidential police matters. But she was angry and humiliated a stranger had seen her at her weakest.

“Well, it is pretty serious actually,” she said. “Four women are dead, and I think the same guy raped and killed them. Pretty brutally too. And I can’t prove it.”

Now it was Din’s turn to be gobsmacked.

“Serious enough for you?” Cara asked before starting her car.

“Obviously, of course,” Din seemed unsure where to put his hands or what to say. “I was just worried that maybe you needed some help.”

Din paused and pulled something about of his pocket. “Here, it’s um, it’s my card. I know group classes aren’t for everyone. If you want to set something up one on one, let me know.”

Cara took the card from Din’s hand. She didn’t know how to respond to his offer. She figured she couldn’t seem any crazier than she already did, so she opted to just roll up the window and drive away.

Unbeknownst to Cara, as she drove away Din looked down at his son who was staring up at his father.

“I don’t know,” Din said to the baby. “I think your wrong. I’ve definitely had worse ideas.”

***


	3. Karana Mudra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara gets some good news and spends time with some good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot of dialogue. Oh well. *shrugs in gay*

_“I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.”_

  
― Oscar Wilde, "The Picture of Dorian Gray"

***

When Cara arrived home after her first yoga class, she discovered an actual message from the Chief of Police in her voicemail. Leia Organa-Solo had called her moments after Cara had lied about getting a work call and peeled out of the gym parking lot leaving Din Djarin and his baby in a cloud of dust.

_“Cara, it’s Leia. I’ve got an update on the Calican case. Call me and only me immediately. In case you ignore these instructions and try to call Ben first, he is in the hospital. It’s just a broken leg. But he can’t answer his phone. I’ll fill you in when you call me. As in me, your superior officer.”_

Cara nearly fell over her gym bag and her discarded sneakers in her haste to dial Leia’s number. The Chief answered after two short rings.

“Organa-Solo speaking,” Leia stated gruffly.

“Chief, it’s me,” Cara replied. “How is Ben?”

“He’s fine. Just a broken leg after a tumble down some stairs. He did worse to himself on his skateboard as a kid.”

“He fell over stairs?” Cara screamed.

In her son’s hospital room, Leia rolled her eyes before answering. “Yes, and he will live.”

From his bed, Ben Solo mimed hand signals at his mother asking if she had updated his partner on the Calican case.

Leia covered the mouthpiece of her cell phone with one hand. “I’m trying to tell her. She just wants to hear about you.”

Ben indicated his mother should hand him the cell phone.

“Not a chance son,” rumbled District Attorney, Han Solo from where he sat next to his son’s bed. “You know Cara isn’t allowed to talk to you about the Calican case as per the terms of the Internal Affairs investigation.”

“But Mom can?” Ben asked in a tone Han hadn’t heard since the kid was a teenager.

Han looked at his wife pointedly, “No, she can’t. That’s why your mom is going to leave the room. And if she happens to update Cara while standing somewhere secluded by herself you and I will be none the wiser.”

Back in her apartment Cara stared at her phone before barking, “What’s going on?” into it.

“Hold on Cara,” Leia replied, exiting her son’s room and strolling towards a door marked, “quiet room”.

Leia poked open the door to see if any other patient’s visitors were present. The room was clear, so she walked in and locked the door.

“Cara, I’m back.”

“Finally!”

Leia sat down in one of the plush chairs provided for bereaved or wearied family and friends of the sick and injured.

“So,” Cara said on the other end of the line. “What’s the update?”

“You’re about to feel very pleased,” Leia answered.

“Not if you don’t stop talking in riddles I won’t.”

“Ben and the Profiler we contracted had a stroke of genius. The Profiler tapped the Seattle FBI office to get some access to forensic IT resources. They started monitoring certain sites on the dark web. You’ll never guess who likes to share his trophies online?”

Cara took a deep breath. Could Calican be that stupid?

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Leia confirmed Cara’s suspicions. “Turns out he likes to take pictures. Of the bodies. In very clearly posed states. Erotically posed states according to the Profiler. Before he dumps them. The pictures show his bedroom in the background.”

“Fuck him,” Cara blurted.

“Oh, fuck him indeed,” Leia sneered. “but it got us grounds for arrest and a search warrant for his home, his electronic devices, his car, and any luggage we found. When Ben showed up with a search warrant at the residence the little bastard tried to destroy his computer. Ben cottoned on quick and chased the Fucker upstairs to the laptop. A skirmish broke out over the coward’s laptop and Ben took a topple over the stairs. The pervert was taken into custody without incident.”

“Why do they always run?” Cara murmured more to herself than Leia.

“Only the Gods know,” Leia sighed. “What made the frat boy who filmed the gang bang he instigated throw his phone in the river and think forensics wouldn’t retrieve the file? All that got him was an additional charge of obstructing justice along with aggravated sexual assault.”

“You know what I say?” Cara asked.

“Yes, but if anyone asks, I never heard or repeated it,” Leia interjected.

“Kill your local rapist.”

“Let’s keep that between you and me, shall we?” Leia said. “That’s all the news. I’m going to go back to Ben’s room. He will be discharged tomorrow. I’m sure he’d love to see you when he’s settled. Just no work talk got it?”

Cara smiled into the phone. “Of course. I’ll go and see him as soon as he is home. Plus, Hux is going to talk enough for all three of us. We won’t get a chance to discuss work.”

Leia also smiled thinking about her son’s live in boyfriend. “That’s very true. Take care Cara. Talk soon.”

***

Three days later, Cara found herself on the doorstep of the condo Ben shared with Dr. Armitage Huxley, PhD in English Literature, specialist in the works of his fellow Irishman Oscar Wilde, and third son of Lord Armitage, the Marquess of Domhall, member of the peerage of Ireland.

Hux, as he liked to be called, had once told Cara traditionally third sons in his family were sent into the church or law, but it was apparent to all, young Armitage Huxley was not destined for either. The only traditional thing Hux had ever done as a third son, was carve a career path of his own given third sons can inherit less than nothing from their aristocratic fathers.

“Primogeniture is a cruel mistress,” Hux was fond of saying after a few too many vodka sodas. “But then,” he’d add upon reflection. “Without it we’d not have Miss Austen’s works, and those are worth any price.”

Cara knocked on Ben’s door and shifted the bag of treats she’d brought for him between her arms. The door opened to reveal a tall, pale man, with a mop of gingery gold hair dressed in business casual.

“Cara, hello!” Hux said while simultaneously trying to relieve her of the bag of treats and kiss her on both cheeks. “Wonderful to see you. Himself will be pleased.”

Cara smiled genuinely at the sound and sight of Armitage Huxley. She didn’t want to stereotype him; Cara knew he thought American celebrations of St. Patrick’s Day were as vile as blackface. But there was something in the way her name sounded when Hux said it in his lilting Irish accent that always brought a smile to her face.

“And how is Himself?” Cara asked as she shucked off her shoes and coat.

“Oh, you know,” Hux replied while surveying the bag’s contents. “Only home from the hospital less than 24 hours and already fed up about sitting in one place.”

“It’s been three days!” Ben yelled from the living room.

Hux looked up from the bag and rolled his eyes at Cara. “Well, forgive my inability to tell time!” he yelled in the direction of the living room. “Tis hard to keep account when surrounded by such fecking pleasant company!”

Hux led Cara through to the living room where Ben was situated on the fold out couch. Cara gave Hux a look before plopping down in a cushy armchair.

“Sure, he’s the one that wanted to be on the couch,” Hux said reading her mind. “I tried to get him into the bedroom and the fancy bed. But no!”

Ben reached out for the bag of treats Hux was still carrying. “The gaming systems are out here, so is the TV, and once I’m more mobile I’m only a cripple shuffle from the fridge.” Ben explained. “Never mind that anyway. What did you bring me?” he asked Cara while rifling through the bag.

“Jesus, 6’5 and still a child,” Hux commented, as he watched his boyfriend inspect the various forms of candy Cara had purchased.

“And yet, you love me,” Ben stated.

Cara watched as Ben leaned precariously over the side of the foldout couch to dig through the bag of sweets.

“Don’t you have a TV in the bedroom?” she asked. “I could help you hook the gaming shit up to it. I’m just a little worried about your leg Ben. This is a regular sized foldout holding up a giant-sized man.”

“Plus, me most nights,” Hux interjected.

“See?” Cara implored Ben. “That’s too much man for one couch.”

Ben smiled mockingly at Cara. “Ah, Cara, your Italian Nona is showing-

“Fuck you!” Cara interrupted him.

Ben held up a finger indicating she should let him say his piece, and Cara complied begrudgingly.

“First, you don’t know what this couch has withstood,” Ben began as Hux broke out laughing. “Second, we can’t hook the gaming systems up to bedroom television. Hux and I promised ourselves when we first moved in together, we would not become the kind of feral dudes who eat, game, and jerk off in their bed.”

“Well, I mean, not the first two things at least,” Hux added when he stopped laughing.

“Third,” Ben said before turning to Hux. “Should we tell her the third reason?”

Hux shrugged. “She’s your partner. I spose the level of disclosure is up to you. If nothing else as a man-oriented woman she should know the true nature of us beasts.”

“Fair,” Ben replied before turning back to Cara. “So, Cara, as a Queen we stan Julia Louis Dreyfuss said, ‘men are horrible…all men are awful, and the key really is to find a man who is the least horrible'.”

Cara narrowed her eyes. “Not following here Ben.”

Ben and Hux looked at each other. Ben turned back to Cara.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he started only to be interrupted by Hux.

“Tis the porn telly.”

“What?” Cara asked.

“The bedroom TV,” Ben filled in. “I know this will sound ridiculous, but we decided the bedroom TV would only be used for porn so we wouldn’t become complete degenerates.”

Cara was flummoxed. “I…really?”

Ben nodded. “Really,” he confirmed. “I told you. Men are horrible. We are men.”

“I spose we have used the porn telly the odd time to check the weather station,” Hux supplied, trying to be helpful.

“Ehhhh, never feels right though does it?” Ben asked his boyfriend.

“No,” Hux agreed. “But it never feels as bad as the time we both had colds and tried to Skype me Mam on it.”

Ben cringed. “Watching your sweet mother’s face on that screen as she tried to nurse us from a distance. That screen it’s projected so much filth…” he trailed off.

“And witnessed just as much,” Hux added. “Twas a little dark-sided that day.”

Cara stared at both men. The look on her face sent Ben and Hux into peals of laughter.

“Come on,” Hux said. “Enough of the shit talk. Do you want to sign his cast or what?”

“Jerks,” Cara smirked out as she reached for the sharpie Hux had pulled out of his cardigan pocket.

After Cara signed Ben’s cast, he distributed some candy among the three of them. Cara ripped into a package of Twizzlers and began chewing on a piece of licorice while Ben watched her from underneath his bangs.

“So, how, um, how are you doing?” he asked before jamming a handful of Nerds in his mouth.

“We’re not allowed to talk about work,” Cara mumbled around the licorice stick.

“I’m not asking about work,” Ben countered. “I’m asking about you.”

Cara shrugged. “I’m doing good.”

Ben glowered at her.

“Really! I am!” Cara pointed her licorice stick at Ben for emphasis.

“The lady doth protest too much methinks,” Hux said while peering between Ben and Cara.

“I’m not!” Cara cried. “I’ve been going to the therapist. And,” she added jabbing the licorice at Ben. “I didn’t used canned language. I 'trusted the process'.” Cara made air quotes while saying the last bit.

“No biscuits for doing what you’re supposed to Detective,” Ben shot back.

Cara bit her licorice in half as if she was envisioning separating Ben’s head from his neck in the same manner.

“I also went to a restorative yoga class,” Cara said, chomping on the Twizzler. “On the advice of the therapist.”

Now Ben was intrigued. “Really? Good for you. How are you finding it?”

“Finding what?” Cara asked as she dug around the bag for more licorice.

“The yoga class,” Ben prompted.

“I’ve only been to one class. It’s a new thing.” Cara replied settling on a mini Caramilk bar when no more licorice was to be found.

“Okay,” Ben said warily as he chewed some Gummie Bears. “When’s your next class? Are you liking it?”

“Honestly, nothing against yoga,” Cara said. “But this class? Not really my scene.”

Ben huffed. “That’s not how therapy works Cara! Most people aren’t into self-introspection and facing their demons.”

Cara felt her hackles raise. Sometimes she and Ben were too much like siblings and not enough like professional partners.

“Tell that to the Weepy Godmother and The Moaner!” Cara retorted. “Cause they seemed into it big time!”

Ben stared at her askance.

“The who and the what now?” Hux asked, gingerly stepping into the conflict between his lover and his friend.

Cara threw her hands up. “This yoga class? Oh my God, Ben, I can’t! It’s called restorative yoga. People can cry during the class. One girl moans! Just moans every time she breathes out!”

“Surely not?” Hux gasped. He was Irish, but also posh enough to be horrified.

“See? He gets it,” Cara cried pointing at Hux. “And the teacher! The guy knocked on my car window after like, like, like… a… drug dealer and gave me his card!”

“That’s not how drug dealers work,” Ben said.

“A man gave you his card?” Hux asked.

“Shut up,” Cara said to Ben. “Yes, he did,” she said to Hux.

Hux placed a hand on his boyfriend’s not broken leg and asked. “Did he say why he was giving you his card?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Ben demanded.

Hux’s only reply was to give his boyfriend a knowing look.

“Oh,” Ben murmured, drawing the one syllable out several seconds while Hux nodded.

“Right,” Hux said to Cara. “The yoga teacher. Is he hot?”

“No,” Ben cut him off. “That’s not where we start. I’m the cop,” he looked at Cara. “Do you still have the card?”

Hux gave Ben an incredulous look.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ben conceded. “Is he though?”

“Is who what?” Cara asked, trying to keep up.

“The yoga teacher. Is he hot?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know, I guess,” Cara floundered about for an answer. “I wasn’t really there for that.”

Both men looked like they didn’t buy her feigned indifference.

“Cara,” Ben said. “You’re a detective. Don’t tell me you can’t give me a description of this guy.”

“Fine!” Cara blew her bangs out of her eyes and pictured Din Djarin in her mind. “5’11, maybe 6 feet. Lean, but in shape. Is yoga shape a thing? Latino with brown eyes and full head of dark brown hair. Messy waves, not curly exactly. Patchy beard, full mustache. Small tattoo on his left hand where the thumb and forefinger meet. Didn’t get a good look at it.”

Both men looked disgusted with her effort.

“What?” Cara cried.

“I mean, we could probably pick him out of a perp line up now,” Ben quipped. “But your description doesn’t answer our main question.”

“Cara!” Hux boomed. “I’m…going…to…ask…this…slowly…and…loudly…in…case…you…are…not…only…deaf…but…dumb. Is…he…hooooot?!”

Cara burst out laughing in spite of herself, and she had to admit the conversation was raising her spirits whether she liked it or not.

“Yes, okay, he’s hot,” she told the two laughing men on the couch. “He has a very nice smile, alright? Is that enough you vultures?”

Ben slapped Hux on the shoulder. “Ooooh, not a nice smile!” he said teasingly to his boyfriend.

“Now Ben,” Hux scolded. “It’s not just a nice smile. Tis a verra nice smile!”

“Fine! Fine!” Cara yelled while uncrossing and crossing her legs as she shifted about from her place in the overstuffed armchair. “At one point, so I could ignore the crying and moaning coming from the other students I focused in on just his voice and thought, instruct me Daddy.”

“There we go!” Hux yelled.

“Nice,” Ben said and offered his partner a high five.

Cara’s hand had barely finished making contact with Ben’s before he asked. “You got that card still?”

***

Ah, does she ever! You know, just in case…


	4. Dharma for Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara's visit with Ben and Hux continues. They lay some learning on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! How are we all doing in this fecked up quarantine? I was actually sick all week, but it wasn't That Name We Dare Not Speak-19. Just a seasonal cold. I'm feeling better today so I hammered this out. Dialogue heavy again, but I hope you enjoy.

_“How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being?”_

-attributed to Oscar Wilde

***

“Yes, I still have the card,” Cara confirmed, and plopped back down in the armchair.

“Let’s have it here then, shall we?” Hux asked, while holding his hand out expectantly.

Ben looked back and forth between Hux and Cara. “Uh, no! I get to see it first. I’m the one who has known her the longest. And I know her the best,” he insisted while reaching out to block his boyfriend’s questing hand.

Cara folded her arms. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Cara said to Ben. “By now whatever you know, he knows,” she said pointing at Hux.

“Exactly!” Hux cried. “Besides, I’m the neutral third-party arbiter in all this.”

“How are you neutral if you know just as much about her as I do?” Ben asked.

Hux made a soothing face at his life partner. “Well, Dearest Man, tis just that you’re a wee bit overprotective of our Cara. You’d likely lay out any man who tried to touch her with his penis. Whereas I would like her to get a right going over from any man smart enough to see her worth.”

“See,” Hux continued, pointing at Ben’s face. “If you could see yourself right now, you’d see the look of abject terror on your face at the mere mention of Cara pulling.”

Ben gaped at Cara and indicated between the two of them as if he was seeking solidarity.

Cara shrugged. “He’s not wrong Ben,” she argued. “You act more like one of my brothers than my best gay whenever we discuss the potential of me getting dick.”

Ben crossed his arms. “I don’t have a problem with you getting dick!” he huffed. “I have a problem with the dudes you generally pick to get dick from!”

Cara’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

Hux played mediator again. “Time out! Red flag on the field!” he yelled while pushing up from the couch and trying to reach between Cara and Ben.

“Red flag on the field?” Ben asked. “More like red flags from all the dudes Cara dates!” he quipped.

“Enough!” Hux said, as he stood bent over, armed crossed in front of Ben. “And you!” he said uncrossing his arms and reaching around his corduroy clad bottom to point a grasping hand at Cara’s face. “Gimme that card!”

“Fine!” Cara grumbled while going through her purse to find the card.

Retrieving the card took only seconds as Cara knew exactly where it had been burning a hole through her bag for days. She slapped it into Hux’s hand, and he stepped over Ben’s elevated leg to settle back on the couch. He sat far enough from Ben to block any attempt by the larger man to steal the card away.

Hux scanned the card twice. The first time he gave its contents a quick skim. The second time he read the card’s details slowly and thoroughly. Hux’s eyebrows climbed further up his forehead as he scanned each line.

Cara grew increasingly anxious with each jump made by Hux’s brows.

“Well?” she asked.

Hux narrowed his eyes and began fanning his face with Din’s card.

“So, Cara,” Hux began. “You tell us, under much duress that you spose this man is hot, but you didn’t really notice. Oh, and you’ll concede he has a nice smile.”

“Yeah,” Cara replied. “And?”

“I guess, knowing what Ben has told me of your dating history,” Hux said, leaving off fanning himself to read the card again. “I just want to know, what makes you too good for a hot doctor? Nay, a board-certified pediatric neurosurgeon with a very nice smile!”

Ben and Hux both cocked their heads to side and glared at Cara.

“Really Carasynthia?” Ben asked. “Really? I’ve only heard a vague description of this guy and I’d probably suck his dick. He fixes baby brains! Tiny little baby brains!”

“Likely in-utero brains sometimes!” Hux added.

“In-what?” Ben asked peering at Hux.

“I’ll explain later.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Cara cried. “Know why? Because he doesn’t just fix baby brains. He has a baby! It was with him at the yoga class. He was wearing it on his chest when he banged on my car window after!”

“Hot,” Ben chimed in.

Hux nodded at his partner. “I know, right? When the hot Dads wear the baby in the strap on?”

“I don’t think the breeders call it a strap on Babe,” Ben said. “That’s the pegging thing remember?” 

“The point is,” Cara said, hoping to focus the conversation. “He has a kid. Which means he’s probably taken.”

“Did you see a ring?” Hux asked.

“No,” Cara replied. “That means shit these days. What kind of gays are you?”

“True,” Hux responded. He crossed his legs and blew a breath out. “And he didn’t mention a Missus…or Mister?”

“Nope,” Cara replied. “We didn’t really get into private life details.”

“Welp,” Ben said. “There’s only one way to solve this. Hux pass me my laptop.”

Hux did as he was bid and handed Ben his laptop from the coffee table.

Ben flexed his fingers. “Time to use the greatest gift to law enforcement ever. Let’s find out if the good doctor is on social media.”

Hux held the card up for Ben to read from as his boyfriend’s fingers flew over the laptop keys. Ben clicked on the first entry Google returned. It appeared to be Dr. Din Djarin’s professional biography.

“Can’t find a social media account yet,” Ben murmured as he stared at the screen. “But, this bio entry on Seattle Children’s Hospital has a picture.” He turned the computer towards Cara. “Is this more than above average good-looking dude the doctor in question?”

Cara peered at Din’s grinning head shot. “That’s him,” she confirmed.

“Hmmmmm,” Ben hummed as he read through Din’s short profile. “Dr. Din Djarin is an attending neurosurgeon at Seattle Children's Hospital. He is also an Associate Professor of Neurological Surgery at the University of Washington School of Medicine.

Dr. Djarin received his undergraduate degree from the College of Letters and Science at UCLA, Los Angeles. He then received his M.D. from Stanford University School of Medicine. He went on to complete a seven-year Neurological Surgery Residency at Stanford under the tutelage of Dr. John R. Adler, inventor of the Cyberknife. He later completed his Pediatric Neurosurgery Fellowship at Seattle’s Children's Hospital.

Dr. Djarin is an active member of Doctors Without Borders/Medicin sans Frontieres (MSF) and spent his most recent tour of duty in Caracas, Venezuela. Dr. Djarin is currently on paternity leave but looks forward to returning to work and teach at Seattle Children’s.”

When Ben finished reading, he, Cara, and Hux sat in silence for a few beats.

“Well, I’m just going to say it,” Hux announced, breaking the silence. “Wow.”

“Yup.” Ben echoed.

“But,” Cara said. “That professional bio is all we have to go on. In real life people are complex and usually disappointing.” She gave Ben a nudge.

Ben sighed. “The friend in me wants to slap you, but the cop in me knows you’re right.”

“And there’s no sign he has any social media accounts?” Hux asked.

Ben shook his head. “Not that I can see,” he said while scrolling through his search. “Wait, wait, he is cross referenced with someone else’s Wikipedia entry. Some old guy named…I’m probably gonna butcher this pronunciation…Cassian…Andor. Anyone know who that is?”

“No way!” Hux yelled. “Give me the laptop!”

“You know who this Andor guy is?” Ben’s voice was laced with incredulity.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Hux moaned. “Sometimes I forget how ignorantly American you are. Tis a good thing you’re handsome my love.”

Cara raised her hand. “I don’t know who Cassian Andor is either?”

“Christ Alive!” Hux exclaimed. “He’s only one the most important Latin American artists of the late twentieth century and he lives here in America so shame on you both!”

Hux began reading from Cassian Andor’s Wikipedia page. “Born in 1950 in Santiago, Chile. Was an active member of the Resistance to Pinochet’s military _junta_. Captured and incarcerated in the Villa Grimaldi in 1975. One of only a few people to escape Grimaldi. Later painted a mural sized painting entitled “Grimaldi” that was heralded as the “Guernica” of his generation.”

Hux looked up from the laptop to see Ben and Cara staring at him blankly.

“Are you fecking kidding me?” Hux asked. “Do I have to school you on the history of your own fecking hemisphere?”

Cara and Ben now looked to the floor. They bore the same physicality as Hux’s undergraduate students when they had not done the reading.

“Very well,” Hux said testily. “I’ll try to make it brief and easily digestible. Do try to keep up.”

With that Hux spun a tale of the Cold War by proxy and a dark time in Chilean history. He told them how Chileans had democratically elected a socialist government led by President Salvador Allende in 1970. Allende was overthrown by a military coup in September of 1973 sending the country violent turmoil. The new leader, General Augusto Pinochet had no mercy for political dissidents and tens of thousands of Chileans paid the price for it in blood and torture. While his iron fisted reign came to an end in 1990, Pinochet did not die until 2006. He went to his grave (“ _sheltered by that bitch Margaret Thatcher in the UK”_ , as Hux had put it) without ever facing charges for the estimated 3200 deaths and disappearances of dissidents under his tenure, or the 40,000 Chileans tortured by their own government. Tortured in places like Villa Grimaldi where survivors reported the use of physical and sexual violence as well as being chained naked in cells full of live, hungry rats.

“It is, I spose, something like The Troubles in Ireland,” Hux said as he came to a staggering finish. “You have to live it to understand it. Cassian Andor lived it. Then he somehow escaped, met a lovely English doctor named Jyn Erso, who was working in Latin America as part of MSF from the looks of his wiki entry, and they fecked off to England with their only child,” Hux pointed at Cara. “Your Din. And then immigrated to Palo Alto where Dr. Erso-Andor taught medicine at Stanford until she retired. I guess being a doctor runs in the family. As does being a stone-cold fox. Look at this picture of young Cassian.”

Hux turned the laptop around to face Ben and Cara. Cara leaned forward to examine the picture of Cassian Andor, aged 32, taken at his first American art exhibition. A devastatingly handsome, but intense, young man stared back at her. His dark eyes were bottomless and haunted, obscured slightly by shaggy dark hair falling around his face. Cara felt a momentary pang of sympathy for Dr. Jyn Erso-Andor. Her husband had the kind of face you let a man ruin your life over. Still, as handsome as father and son were, they did not look alike to Cara save for a shared propensity to wear facial hair.

“He doesn’t look much like Din,” she mused.

Ben looked up from the laptop. “Maybe he looks like his mom. Does she have an entry?” he asked Hux.

Hux swiveled the computer back towards himself and scanned Andor’s entry. “No. It seems Dr. Din and he’s mam like to keep their ish on the down low. Though, so does Cassian Andor. This page was likely created by a fan or academic of his work. Andor is notoriously cagey for an artist. Barely gives interviews. Only appears at his own exhibitions for moments at a time. According to this, he has turned down numerous offers to write an autobiography, or to sign over the rights to his life for a movie.” Hux began reading aloud from the entry. “In response to numerous requests from Pedro Almodovar to immortalize his life story on film, Andor has said, ‘I admire Pedro’s work as a Latino artist but the memories that have haunted me and my family since the Villa Grimaldi will live and die with me alone’.”

“Hardcore,” Ben offered.

“Very,” Hux seconded.

“You know what all this means right?” Cara asked.

“You must call this Din Djarin, doctor of tiny infant brains immediately,” Hux stated while handing Cara back Din’s business card.

“No,” Cara answered as she slid the card into her back pocket. “It means Din Djarin, between his own accomplishments, his Dad’s, and probably his Mom’s from the sounds of it, is way out of my league.”

Ben made a disgusted noise while Hux leapt from the sofa, dodged the coffee table and came to his knees at the side of Cara’s armchair.

“First of all, Cara my love, my darling girl,” he said while taking one of Cara’s hands in his. “There is no such thing as out of your league you Goddess on this Earth.”

Cara snorted her derision at the ginger man but let him continue.

“Day in and day out I am faced with undergraduates who are constantly misquoting Wilde much to my chagrin,” Hux continued. “They are particularly fond of one fake Wilde quote that usually makes me want to give them all Scottish smiles when they use it,” Hux said, referencing the act of breaking a beer bottle in half and jamming the pointy side of it into the face of an opponent. “But it seems rather apt here and now. ‘Never love any man who treats you like you’re ordinary’. The give away of course is Wilde would never have used a contraction even in informal conversation, but the point remains. You my dear, have a terrible habit of loving men who think you are ordinary. This man, whatever his pedigree, seems like he is just smart enough given all those degrees to see just how extraordinary you are.”

“That’s sweet of you to say Hux,” Cara whispered, fighting back the roaring waves roiling in her ears and head. “But I don’t think Din Djarin gave me his card because he thinks I’m extraordinary. He caught me crying in my car after yoga class. The doctor in him is probably just worried about my sanity.”

“So?” Ben piped up, breaking the moment between Cara and Hux. “What have you got to lose Dune? Worst case scenario you get one on one yoga classes without all the hippies and it helps you with your mental health. Best care scenario, this guy is into you.”

“Exactly,” Hux agreed. “Either way it has the potential to do you a world of good. And as Herrick would say, ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying; And this flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying’.”

Cara and Ben once again stared at Hux like he had three heads.

“Jesus on the cross, yer Philistines! A whole country of Philistines!” Hux cried. He searched around for a pop culture reference his boyfriend and Cara would understand. “Do or do not. There is no try! Is that pedestrian enough for ye?”

Ben reached into the treats bag and pulled out a handful of hard candies. He lobbed them at Hux’s head.

“My pretentious boyfriend is right,” Ben said to Cara. “You should call the guy. No harm in having another ally in times like this.”

Cara picked up one of the candies Ben had thrown from the rug and fired it back at him. The Jolly Rancher crashed into Ben’s forehead as Cara said, “Fine. I’ll think about it. But no promises.”

***

Cara prepared a barbell to do lunges and remembered that day, more than a year ago, when she had not promised Ben and Hux she would contact Din. In retrospect, the only thing lamer than her excuses for not calling Din, was how inept she, and Din, had been at conversing once she did call him.

***

Up next: What happens when no one knows where to put their hands. Especially in a very hands on, one on one, yoga class.


	5. Virabhadrasana I (Warrior Pose I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara takes Din up on his offer for one on one tutelage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote Leslie Jordan, "Well shit! How y'all doin'? This is awful!" Sorry updates take so long. Quarantine has liquefied my brains.

_"You yourself must strive. The Buddhas only point the way."_

-Buddha, the "Dhammapada"

***

Cara turned Din’s business card over and over between her fingers while staring at her phone like it might bite her. To call or not to call, that was the question. Cara reflected on her visit with Ben and Hux. The boys had been in high spirits, and she was flattered by their insistent belief Din had given her his card because he was attracted to her, but sober second thought gave her pause. Even if Din wanted to offer her more than yoga classes should she entertain such advances at a time like this?

Dr. Motto had recommended Din’s class as a compliment to Cara’s treatment regimen. Surely, he had by default, some fiduciary duty towards her and should not blur boundaries by coming onto her? Din was a doctor. He could not have a relationship with a patient. Cara wondered if she qualified as a “patient” if she was just attending a yoga class. Do yoga instructors have a professional body of regulators? Would Din be put on trial on by a group of white women named “Ocean” and “Harmony” if he made a pass at Cara?

Cara rotated the card in her hand one more time and considered waiting to speak with Dr. Motto at her next session before calling Din. But what if Dr. Motto vetoed the idea of Din and Cara meeting one on one? _All the more reason not to call him without talking to Dr. Motto_ , whispered her brain. _Just call him_ , screamed her gut.

Cara had always been a gut first, brain second kind of person. She lay down the card and picked up her phone.

“Okay, you can do this,” Cara told herself as she punched in Din’s number. “Just act normal. Don’t be weird. He gave you his card. He offered to give you classes. It’s not creepy that you are inquiring about the possibility of doing exactly what he suggested.”

***

Moments before his phone started ringing, Din Djarin was sitting in his small study in the modest home he’d purchased in a residential area of Seattle. A modest home he would be paying off for the rest of his, and likely Santiago’s, life.

_To my son Santiago, I bequeath the debt trap that allowed you to have a postage stamp garden to run around in as a child, your Dad, Dr. Din Djarin._

Din was sitting at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up, and glasses askew while he tapped at his laptop’s keys. On the screen in front of him was the academic paper he was working on with a PhD student in Sociology named Rey Skywalker. Rey was a bit of an up and coming phenom at Washington State University. Din often thought of her as a ray of sunlight using her research to shed light on the dark parts of humanity. She had shown up in his office one day after finding out through the WSU grapevine he had spent time with MSF in Caracas, Venezuela.

Rey had explained her research interests to him; Gender and Queer studies, mixed with an ample heaping of criminology and public health issues. Din had found her equal parts fascinating and intimidating. To Rey, everything in the known world was connected, and a holistic approach was the answer to all society’s problems. Unlike Din, Rey had no time for research parameters, sterile lab environments, or deeming any data irrelevant. Working with Rey made Din feel exhilarated, validated (especially after what he had witnessed in Caracas), and old.

Everything about Rey was novel like her research. Once, when Din had visited Rey in her office his gaze had landed on a strip of photobooth photos Rey displayed right above her laptop at eye level. The black and white squares contained pictures of Rey sitting in the laps of two men at the same time. One man was black, and the other Din guessed to be a fellow Latino. Two pictures featured Rey kissing each of the men in turn, the third displayed the two men kissing, and in the final picture both men kissed Rey on the cheek.

Rey had caught Din staring at the photos as he held out the coffee, he had bought her and smiled at him beatifically.

“Those are my boyfriends, Poe and Finn,” she had said casually so as not to embarrass Din.

Rey had also pretended not to notice the way Din’s cheek’s flamed when he was caught staring at her photos. Din was glad she had walked him through her personal life like it was no big deal, but also extremely mortified he’d not managed to be totally cool about his reaction. After all, he was a member of Generation X raised in Silicon Valley. He was supposed to be too cool to blush at someone’s “alternative lifestyle”. In fact, he was not supposed to even call a polyamorous set up, “alternative”.

At the time, Din had wondered if he should thank Rey for doing the emotional labour necessary to ignore his bashfulness. Emotional labour was what the kid’s called explaining their norm to the olds, right? But Rey had just powered through and asked Din about his day before offering him a chair.

The sound of his phone ringing brought Din back the present and he looked furtively back and forth between his laptop and his phone. Santi was down for a nap and those never lasted long enough. Now might be the only time he had to pluck away at his and Rey’s combined work.

The phone display listed the call as, “unknown number”. Most people would let those calls go to voice mail. But the doctor in Din worried it might be a patient, or somehow the hospital calling from a number he didn’t recognize. What if it was an emergency and he was needed? Din took one last look at the paper entitled, “The case for treating sexual violence in Caracas, Venezuela as a medical emergency” and picked up his phone. He was on paternity leave, but paternity leave only went so far to excuse a neurosurgeon from his duties.

“Hello?” Din managed to answer just before his voice mail kicked in.

“Um, hi,” Cara stuttered. “Is this Din Djarin?”

Din tried to pinpoint the voice on the phone. He knew he recognized the voice but couldn’t place the caller.

“It is,” he replied, hesitantly.

“Great! Um, hi, Din,” Cara said, haltingly. “This is Cara. Cara Dune, the cop from last week’s yoga class?”

Cara went well out of her way not to mention she had been the crazy lady crying in her car as he changed his son’s diaper.

Din’s brain faltered for a second before he put two and two together. Cara, Cara Dune. The beautiful woman who hunted serial killers and had shown up early for his class wearing spandex built to defy all the laws of physics.

“Right! Cara! From yoga class!” he said just a bit too high pitched for his own liking. “The police officer!”

Din slapped his forehead and cursed his inability to state anything but the obvious.

“That’s me!” Cara declared, equally shrilly.

Several seconds of silence passed between the two. On Din’s end of the phone he pointed at his reflection in the study window and mentally berated himself to say something, anything, and possibly make it witty, or at least coherent. Cara bit down on their thumb and willed herself to break the awkward lull.

Din jabbed a finger at the windowpane one last time before blurting out, “It’s great to hear from you Cara! What can I do for you?”

Cara grabbed onto the handle of her stove tightly and sunk to her knees. She pressed her forehead against the stove window and tried to tamp down every impulse she had to hang up the phone and never ask anyone for anything ever again.

“Well,” she began with her eyes screwed shut. “You mentioned last week that some people don’t like group classes?”

“Yes, I did,” Din cringed. _You have an M.D. and a PhD Man!_ His mind screamed at him. _Use your words, you know a lot of words_. “Um, it’s just, I recognize some people find a group setting less than ideal for their practice of yoga.”

“I think,” Cara replied, after a beat. “No, I’m pretty positive, I’m one of those people.”

“Okay,” Now Din placed his forehead against his window. “Would you, would you like to maybe meet at the gym one on one? It’s the same price as the group class. I don’t get paid, the money goes to Greef, in return for the space.”

Din blew out a breath that fogged up around his face on the window. First, he had no words, now he had verbal diarrhea.

“Sure, okay,” Cara answered. “But, on a trial basis okay? Maybe yoga isn’t my jam. Even one on one.”

Jesus, could she sound more like a bitch? Cara smacked her head against the stove in penance.

“Of course,” Din said. “I don’t hold students hostage remember?”

“Right.”

“Is there a day and time that works best for you?” Din asked. “I can try and work around your schedule.”

Cara stared at her reflection in the stove window. Her face looked void.

“No,” she answered. “I’m um, I’m kinda on leave from work. So, I have all the time in the world.”

Din looked at his watch. The timepiece displayed both time and the date. It was now Saturday at two o’clock in the afternoon. Santi would wake up screaming any moment now.

“Would early morning work for you?” Din offered. “That way, you can get it over with early, and not dread the situation all day long. You know if yoga turns out not to be for you.”

“Okay,” Cara was too paralyzed with anxiety to really care about specifics.

“Um, so Monday at nine a.m.?” Din asked, with one ear fixated on the open door of his study in case Santi let out a howl from upstairs.

“Sure,” Cara answered.

“Okay, great. Monday at nine. See you then.”

“Yeah, see you then. And Din?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks”

“No problem.”

Silence again stretched between Din and Cara for a handful of seconds.

Cara shook herself off first. “Um, bye?” she mumbled into the phone.

“Right! Yeah, bye, see you soon,” Din replied in a fluster before hitting the end call button.

Unbeknownst to either, both Din and Cara dropped their phones and ran their hands over their faces while ruminating on how idiotic each must have sounded to the other during their conversation.

***

On Monday, at eight thirty in the morning, Cara found herself sitting on a bench in the gym’s change room staring at the locker she had just stuffed her belongings into. She thought about going a few rounds with a punching bag to calm her nerves before Din arrived, but she didn’t want to be a sweaty mess in case the class got up close and personal. In the end, Cara settled for walking on treadmill within sight of the yoga room so she could warm up and spot Din the moment he appeared.

Cara had been walking on a treadmill for about fifteen minutes when she sighted a distracted Din making his way towards the yoga room. He was clad in the kind of athleisure wear that usually screamed “poseur” on most people but looked well lived in and used on him. Cara could imagine Din hopping on a fully kitted out pedal bike at the break of dawn and biking all the way to the hospital in his moisture wicking apparel to perform brain surgery on children.

Everything about him, from his sneakers to the tablet he was staring at as he walked, and the backpack strapped to his back screamed money. However, unlike a lot of people in Seattle none of his accoutrements appeared to be for affectation alone. The clothing and the gadgets were extensions of the man.

Din was so absorbed in whatever he was reading on his tablet Cara knew he was unlikely to notice her on the treadmill so she opted to make her way to the yoga room after he had struggled in through the door. Din had left the glass door open, but Cara knocked on the door frame anyway before entering.

“Knock, knock,” Cara called, and leaned her hip against the entry way.

Din looked up at her from where he was crouched on the floor next to his bundled-up yoga mat and backpack. He had a tablet in one hand, his phone in the other, and a pen stuck between his lips. His sunglasses sat askew on his forehead.

“Hai! Hai! Dorry bout dis,” Din garbled around the pen. He motioned for Cara to enter the room.

Din spat the pen on the floor before he spoke again.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I um, got some work-related emails on the way here that couldn’t wait. Just give me a few more seconds.”

“No problem,” Cara replied with a smile. “I’ll just get a mat and set myself up. Take all the time you need.”

Din nodded at her gratefully and turned back to his electronic devices. Cara walked to the wall shelving and pulled out a mat. She unrolled it slowly and watched Din from beneath her lashes. He’d lain his tablet flat on floor and was using his fingers to scroll through and enlarge black and white images on the screen. Occasionally, he used his electronic stylus to draw a circle or scrawl notes on the image in red.

Cara did her best to inconspicuous, but Din caught her staring at him as he worked.

“Sorry!” Cara said. “I’m being nosy. It’s the detective in me.”

Din smiled. “It’s okay. I couldn’t stop staring either the first time I saw a three-dimensional MRI image of a brain.”

“That’s a brain?” Cara asked pointing at the tablet.

“Sure is,” Din replied. “There’s no identifying information in the scan if you want to look.”

Cara made a “why not” face and sat down on the floor next to Din. He held the tablet between them and set the resolution back to normal. Cara stared at the image in front of her. She could tell by its shape it was a brain, but that was all she could make out.

“Well, even if it had identifying information on it…I wouldn’t know what I’m looking at,” Cara confessed. “I mean, I can see that it is the shape of a brain, but that’s it.”

She had seen x-rays and images of brains as part of forensics evidence, but she left the analysis of all that to Dr. Pershing.

“Let me give you a tour then,” Din said.

Cara watched and listened as Din manipulated the three-dimensional image of the brain and explained all its parts to her.

Cara pointed at a red circle he had drawn around a portion of the organ. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “I’m guessing you don’t mark up pictures of healthy brains with red?”

“You guess right,” Din replied. Then he sighed. “I can’t tell you anything more about the patient then to say it’s a six-year-old child with a grade two fibrillary astrocytoma.”

“And, that is a bad thing?”

Din took a deep breath. “Well, it’s a brain tumor in a six-year-old, so yeah. See this?” he used the stylus to point at the image. “That’s the tumor. This kind infiltrates subtly into surrounding tissues which makes it harder to remove completely. Which is not ideal, because these kinds of gliomas- sorry that’s the word we use instead of tumor-often become cancerous after they progress past grade two.”

“How awful,” Cara blurted out.

“Yeah,” Din agreed. “But, luckily rare. Well, I say rare, but if it is going to happen astrocytomas are some of the most common brain tumors I see in children. And, I’ve done a lot of these surgeries which is why my colleague is looking for a referral.”

“I thought you were on paternity leave?” Cara asked before she could stop herself. _Shit!_ Now he would know she had cyber stalked him.

Din smiled but raised an eyebrow. “I am, but I don’t remember telling you that.”

Cara thought quick. “You didn’t. I Googled you. Had to do my research before taking your class. I am a detective after all. Detecting is what we do. Plus, I’m a yoga skeptic remember?”

“Right, I forgot. This is essentially an audition for your respect,” Din joked.

“Please,” Cara scoffed. “You’re a brain surgeon. You already have my respect.”

Din’s smile went from joking to mega-watt. “Ditto, Detective.”

“So, are you going to take this case?” Cara asked. “Is there anyone at home who can take care of your kid while you save someone else’s?”

Cara felt Hux and Ben would have been immensely proud of the way she had managed to inquire about Din’s relationship status without being obvious.

“No guarantee it’ll be a save,” Din stated as he slipped the tablet into his backpack. “It’s just me and Santi at home, but he has a great daycare he loves attending. I am on leave, but you know, duty calls.”

“Do I ever.”

“Speaking of duty,” Din began. “Since I’m sharing with you, maybe you can tell me if you’re actively on duty? Because, after our first class you said you got a work call. But, on the phone you said you’re on leave.”

Cara looked anywhere but Din’s face. “Yeah about that. I am on leave. I was on leave during the first class. That’s kind of why I thought yoga might be helpful. I’m on stress leave.”

“Okay,” Din replied, and Cara heard no judgment in his voice. “It’s just, the more I know what you’re trying to accomplish with yoga the better able I am to help.”

Cara looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “To get back to work? To find inner peace? Isn’t that what people do yoga to find?”

Din chuckled. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. First, we’d have to quantify and define inner peace. And achieving it is not as easy as Lululemon would have you believe.”

The look on Cara’s face told Din she was unimpressed by his jest.

“Tell you what,” he tried again. “Why don’t you tell me what inner peace means to you.”

Cara thought for a moment. “I’d like a little bit of time in the day where I get out of my head, and I’m just present. I get that kind of focus when I’m working out.”

Din gave Cara a once over. “You look like someone who can move around some serious weights.”

Cara tried not to preen but failed.

“Maybe a more active practice is right for you. We can focus on executing the poses correctly and challenge your body. Leave out the rest.”

“If by the rest you mean whatever makes people cry or moan during class, I’m down.” Cara replied.

Din let out a guffaw. “Yeah, I haven’t figured out a diplomatic way to deal with those issues in my restorative class yet.” He conceded.

“I can’t help you there,” Cara retorted. “I can only think of very undiplomatic ways to shut them up.”

“That’s not very Zen, Ms. Dune. I thought you were trying to achieve inner peace?”

“I thought you were going to ‘challenge my body’?” Cara shot back.

Din stood quickly and gracefully. He offered Cara a hand up.

“Alright,” he said with a smirk. “Let’s do this.”

Despite her misgivings about yoga, Cara found she thoroughly enjoyed the next hour of her life. The basic postures Din took her through were challenging when done correctly. Cara was able to lose herself in her breath and concentrate her focus on perfecting her form. It helped that Din was easy to talk to, and they quickly developed a rapport. Cara could admit her inner perv got a kick out of watching Din demonstrate poses. Not to mention when he politely asked to lay hands on her whenever he felt she needed to correct her form.

At the end of the class, when Cara and Din found themselves sitting on their mats laughing at a joke one or the other had made, he popped the question to her.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked. “Would you want to do this again sometime?”

“Yes definitely!” Cara answered, before she could second guess herself.

“Same time next week?”

“You’re on!”

***

Thank you to everyone still riding this struggle bus with me. *honks horn*


End file.
